Thursday, February 08, 2007

San Francisco, Take 2

Sunday I hassled with the concierge for a bit, and after some bureaucratic nonsense and a quick trip to my cousin's house (I'd stayed there Thursday night as K. was still in conference-mode) to retrieve the coat, glasses, face wash, and contact case I'd left, we headed over the Golden Gate Bridge northwards.

Marin County's beauty was only slightly marred by me hollering at K. to slow down so I could take a darn picture.

We arrived at the Muir National Forest after lots of map-reading and amicable bickering...one of the very steep roads made even K. nervous because it had no guard rail.

Upon arriving at the park, we paid and then in true American style, we ate. Organic tomato soup with gorganzola cheese and super-good trail mix.

Much happier, we than wandered into the woods, feeling a wee bit out of place as everyone else had fancy hiking shoes and backpacks.

After an hour and a bit, we hopped back in the car and headed east along a bay and then north into Napa valley. K. wouldn't stop since we were due at aunt Mimi's, so all grapevines are blurred.

(The yellow stuff is mustard.)

Napa valley was beautiful, but kind of a disappointment after all the press. I didn't realize that the vineyards would be so close to one another, right off the main road, like a vinicultural main street.

St. Helena, however, was fab. While now priced out the wazoo, it was an actual little town, with 19th century buildings, a quaint downtown, and beautiful stonework. We lollygagged a bit-- I ordered a whole gallon of olive oil from a store where we chugged paper-cupped samples of the different varieties-- and K. got very upset with the misleading public bathroom sign.

We then got back in the car, and drove the three roads out to Aunt Mimi, aka Seavey Vineyard (seaveyvineyard.com).

The last picture (above) is of the winery at aunt Mimi's. Although we tromped around the vineyard (which is beautiful-- 40 acres in vines, all of it steep) and admired the grassfed cattle that had wandered among the vines, we didn't take any more pictures. But imagine a room, a concrete vault really, with row upon row of french oak barrels, stained red around the middle. A most incredible smell. Her two small dogs, one of whom trotted in during dinner preparations with a dead bird. The best chocolate tart thingie I've ever eaten.

After a really pleasant dinner, we drove back to San Francisco, dropped off the rental car (thereby leaving all the stuff I'd retrieved that morning from my cousin's), and walked the eight blocks to the hotel, passing an Asian prostitute with one exposed breast as she hung out on the corner.